


All Of My Love

by StairwayToZeppelin



Category: Supernatural
Genre: After Metatron Expels Angels From Heaven (Supernatural), Cas is in love with Dean, Fake FBI Agent, Former Angel Castiel (Supernatural), Guilty Castiel (Supernatural), Human Castiel (Supernatural), M/M, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Qareen - Freeform, cas is a hunter, djinn
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-08-16
Updated: 2020-08-17
Packaged: 2021-03-06 07:54:59
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 6,974
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25929973
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/StairwayToZeppelin/pseuds/StairwayToZeppelin
Summary: Castiel, newly graceless and human, is desperate to proof to Sam and Dean that he is of use to them, which is easier said than done. While Sam had welcomed him back with open arms, Dean continuous to take his anger and hurt out on him. A new case pops up where people's hearts are ripped out, but it's not a werewolf. Dean orders Cas to stay behind them and helping them by researching what they're dealing with. After the case was solved, Cas decides to give the brothers a much deserved break by finding a case and solving it himself. A djinn case sounded easy enough, but it quickly goes south. He ends up trapped in a djinn's dream, but... it's not as bad as it seemsInspired by Tumblr post/comic
Relationships: Castiel/Dean Winchester
Kudos: 15





	1. Research

**Author's Note:**

> I was on Tumblr and found a text/cartoon where Cas was trapped in a djinn's dream and had to be rescued by Sam. When Sam went in to get him, he saw what Cas truly desired: a life with Dean. Sam desperately tells him that it's not real; that he's trapped in a djinn's dream, but Cas knows. Cas is so desperate to be with Dean, that he doesn't care that it's not real. Sam has to literally drag a kicking, screaming and crying Cas back to reality. When he's conscious, Dean berates him and yells at him. Sam eventually tells Dean what he saw in the dream. 
> 
> The comic was so cute (and I definitely did not shed a tear or ugly cry), that I decided to write a fic. Enjoy!
> 
> The story does not have a specific timeline. I am drawing from events from multiple seasons without following the timeline of the show (things that happen in season 12 are mixed with things that happen in the later seasons, etc.). So beware of spoilers

Castiel was locked up in the bunker. No, that wasn’t right. He wasn’t _really_ being forced to stay there, but Dean had asked him (told him) to stay. “You’re new to this whole human thing, Cas. We don’t want you getting hurt,” Sam had told him apologetically while he and Dean were packing up for a hunt. 

There had been a string of odd deaths in Minot, North Dakota. Nine people have been found missing a heart. The first three victims had been in their home. The first victim, Nathan Willis was found in his bedroom. The second and third victims were Marie and Elliot Mase, a married couple who had just celebrated their one year anniversary. They were found in the living room. The fourth victim, Alexander Hansen, had been found in his car. The fifth and sixth victims were Elena Maymer and Jane Bruce, who had decided to go hiking together. A woman walking her dog had found them dead in their tent the next morning. Sarah Edwards had found her husband, Karl, in the bathroom shortly before she, too, was murdered. Eric Michaels was found at work by the janitor. The next day, the janitor, Josh Mansen, had been found dead, too. The last victim was Katharine Nickels. She had been on the phone with her sister, Karen, when a knock had interrupted their conversation. When Katharine had opened the door, her sister reported that she had said “Kevin” before the line went dead. What made it weird, was that Kevin was the name of her late husband, who had died three weeks prior in a car accident.

At first the boys had thought that it was a werewolf. The missing heart had been a dead giveaway, but none of the crime scenes had indicated a werewolf attack. There was no broken glass or broken doors, the victim’s weren’t mauled to death, and the hearts looked like they were ripped out instead of bitten or clawed out. The last victim, Katharine, saying her deceased husband’s name had been another dead giveaway that what they were dealing with was not a werewolf.

Their new suspect was a shapeshifter. Nathan Willis’ neighbour had reported seeing Willis’ ex-girlfriend walk into the house. The ex-girlfriend had been at college in New York at the time of the murder. The police had ruled it as a case of mistaken identity, but Katharine’s case had made it clear that they were dealing with some sort of shifter, but what kind of shifter ate their victim’s hearts and _only_ their hearts?

*******

_“Why don’t you help us and look up what it is. It’s the least you could do,” Dean had said, ignoring Cas’ wince. He was right, of course. It was the least he could do. After all, he had caused the angels to fall, and it was because of him that Dean took on the Mark of Cain from Cain himself; a mark that had almost killed him, turned him into a bloodthirsty demon, and had almost made him kill Sam and Cas._

_The only good thing that had happened was that Cas was able to get back his grace and help Sam cure Dean, but it was now, once again, gone. And this time, it was permanently gone._

*******

After he had gotten his soul back from Metatron, he had found out that Metatron had done something to it. With each time that he used his grace, a little piece of it would be gone forever, until it was completely gone. There was no fixing it. He had tried; _they_ had tried.

Sam had called Rowena, in the hopes that she knew what to do, but even _The Book of the Damned_ had no answers.

Having restrained Dean when he was a Knight of Hell and was trying to kill Sam had taken a lot out of him. He had used it before, but never so much at once. Holding a Knight of Hell was not an easy task, even if he had had all of his strength. He had been weak after that, something Demon Dean had only been too happy to point out, right before Cas had shut him up by injecting him with Sam’s purified blood.

He had quickly learned that flying also drained his grace. Not much, but enough to make him realise how much of it he had truly used, especially after holding Dean, but he couldn’t not use it. What was he supposed to do when The Winchesters, specifically Dean, called him? Ignore them? He’d done that before, too many times back when he was selfish, and it would always end badly. So, when they called, he came. When they were hurt, he healed them. When they were in danger, he protected them. It was his job and he was good at it.

Until he wasn't.

Shortly after Sam had cured Dean of The Mark, and with that, released The Darkness, Amara — God’s sister — Rowena, who was somehow still alive, had cursed him with the attack-dog spell.

While he was under the spell, he had almost killed Crowley, which in itself wasn’t really that bad, but he had also endangered Sam and Dean. He couldn’t control it. He saw what he was doing, and a small part of him knew that what he was doing was wrong, but he couldn’t control himself. He only had one thing on his mind: kill.

Luckily, the spell eventually wore off. How, he would never know, but he suspected that it had to do with him being an angel and still having a little bit of his grace left, but that spell had taken it. All of it. He was now, once again, human.

Utterly useless to the Winchesters.

When Dean had found out, he had been livid.

*******

_“Dammit, Cas! Why didn’t you say anything?!” The man had yelled at him, after he had had another seizure of sorts. After asking why his grace wasn’t curing him, Cas had been forced to explain that he no longer had any left._

_“I’m sorry, Dean,” Cas had apologised, defeated._

_“Sorry doesn’t fix this, Cas! Why didn’t you tell us that you were running so low?!” He had yelled at him. Cas had winced. Not in fear, but in pain. His head felt like someone was stabbing him with an ice pick over and over again while someone else was smashing his head in with a hammer. The yelling was only making things worse._

_“I didn’t realise how low it had been,” he explained. It hadn’t even been a lie. He knew he was low, but he didn’t expect that the spell would have taken it all._

_“Great. That’s just great. What do we do now?” He had asked exasperated._

_“Dean,” Sam had said gently, in an attempt to calm his brother down._

_“What, Sam?” He had snapped. Instead of replying, the brunet had simply nodded at Cas. Dean looked at him, really , looked at him and sighed heavily._

_The man was utterly broken. He was pale and covered in a fine sheen of sweat. His bright blue eyes were dull and lost, his dark hair was greasy and sticking to his forehead, and his hands were clenched into fists and pressed against his shivering body in an attempt to warm himself._

_The blond hunter walked over to the chair that was in the corner and picked up the grey blanket, draping it over the former angel’s shoulders. “We’ll figure this out, Cas,” he had assured him and laid his hand on the shoulder, squeezing it gently. It was an apology, and Cas had wanted to cry. He didn’t deserve the apology. He didn’t deserve Dean’s gentleness. He had let them down... again._

*******

So now, almost two months after he had completely lost his grace, Cas was in the bunker at the table with an old laptop and a pile of open books in front of him, trying desperately to find anything on what they were dealing with, when his phone rang. He looked at the caller ID, and when he saw it was Dean, he immediately answered it.

“I’ve not made much progress. I’m sorry, Dean,” he apologised embarrassed. He had one job. The brothers had left two days ago, and he wasn’t any closer to finding out what it was.

“Hey, Captain, I’m at the crime scene right now and the Sheriff just wants to speak to you,” Dean said smoothly.

“I don’t understand,” he said confused, a V appearing between his brows.

“Yup, here she is,” he said.

“Dean!” Cas called, before he heard the voice of a woman.

“Hi, Sheriff Jones here. I was just wondering if the boys here were yours,” she said. She had a pleasant voice, but her tone was suspicious. She didn’t believe that the two brothers were telling the truth, and they weren't, of course, but Cas immediately knew what to do. He had seen Bobby do it a hundred times back when he was still an angel and in heaven, and a few times when he was an angel on earth.

“Oh, y-yes. I sent the two agents,” he stuttered out.

“Uh-huh,” she said, unconvinced. Cas squeezed his eyes shut. Figures that he would fail at this, too, just as he has with everything else. “And say, which agents did you send?” She asked him. He could tell by his voice that she was raising an eyebrow.

“Uh,” he hesitated, trying to think of what names they went with. Dean had told him before they left, but his slow human brain was something he was still getting used to. “Agent Osbourne and Agent Butler,” he remembered.

*******

_“I’m Agent Osbourne and Sam’s Agent Butler, okay? Just remember Black Sabbath, got it. You do remember them, right?” Dean had asked him._

_“Yes, Dean, I remember. They’re a band from England. You like listening to them on long rides,” Cas had told him, making a small smile appear on the man’s full lips, a smile that made Cas feel things he had never felt before, at least not like this._

*******

“I sent them to investigate the string of murders that have been happening in your city. Murders, that you are evidently too incompetent to solve yourself,” he had snapped at her.

“I-“ she began, but the former angel cut her off.

“So now if you would excuse me, I have a job to do,” he said, raising an eyebrow in a challenging way. He knew she couldn’t see it, but she could clearly hear the tone in his voice.

“Of course, thank you,” she replied and hung up. Cas let out a heavy sigh and placed the phone back on the table. He squeezed his eyes shut, they were beginning to hurt from staring at the screen for hours and hours, and rubbed them before opening them again. He blinked away the stars he saw from rubbing too hard, but he went right back to researching when they were gone.

**-.-**

“Dean, I believe that what you are dealing with is a qareen,” he told him, a day after the phone call.

“A what?” Dean asked, confused.

“A qareen,” he repeated himself.

“I heard you, Cas, but what is it?” Dean asked. He didn’t need to see him to know that he was rolling his eyes at him.

“It’s similar to a genie and a shapeshifter. It takes on the form of the person’s darkest desire to seduce them before killing them,” he told him, reading from one of the ancient books in the Men of Letters library. “It can be controlled by a master that is in the possession of their heart,” he read on.

“Wait, what? Their heart?” Sam asked. He must be on speakerphone. “What does that mean?” He asked.

“It means that someone is in possession of it,” he told him.

“We get that, Cas, but what does it _mean_?” The blond asked impatiently.

“From what I read and understood, a witch owns the heart by putting some spell on it and then controls the qareen,” he explained.

“Figures,” he said and then murmured, “friggin’ witches.”

“So, how do we kill it?” Sam asked. 

“You have to stab its heart, but it’s usually hidden somewhere,” he said.

“What do you mean hidden?” The hunter asked, confused and frustrated. He was getting tired of the whole twenty questions spiel.

“It’s not in direct possession of the heart. It’s usually hidden somewhere, like in a chest or box or something,” he explained. “It’s dark, almost black, and looks close to a human’s,” he said, before adding, “at least that’s what it looks like in the picture.”

“Do we need anything special to kill it? Like, a silver dagger or wood blessed by a priest?” Dean asked.

He read over the text before he shook his head. “No. Just stab it,” he said.

“Okay,” he said and hung up.

Cas let out a heavy sigh. He had spent three days doing research, and now that he was done, he was bored. He both felt and heard his stomach growl hungrily. He got up with a heavy sigh and walked into the kitchen. He opened up the fridge and looked at the contents of the fridge, but nothing really appealed to him. After all, spoiled milk, something that used to be meatloaf, and spoiled fruit wasn’t very appetising. He would need to make a grocery run, but for now, a peanut butter and jelly sandwich would have to do.

After making his sandwich, he went back to the main area and sat down at the table. Before the brothers had left, Sam had given him his Netflix password.

*******

_“What’s a Netflix?” Cas had asked confused, making the tall brunet laugh._

_“It’s a streaming device where you can watch shows and movies,” he had explained and opened it up on a tap on the man’s laptop. “Here,” he said and turned the laptop for the dark haired man to see. “There’s a list of shows and movies that they have. They’re organised by categories. They have everything,” he had told him._

*******

Now, Cas was currently going through the list, and eventually settled on Orange is the New Black. It was an interesting show, but Cas wasn’t sure if he liked it or not. He got about halfway through the first season, when Sam called him.

“Cas, can you tell us anything about the witch? Does it have to be some special witch or some ancient old witch?” He asked him.

Cas paused the show and picked up one of the books and read through it. “There’s limited mention on the witch,” he said. “I would assume that it could be any witch,” he offered.

“Fantastic,” Dean grumbled annoyed. Of course, he was on speakerphone again.

“I’m sorry, Dean,” he apologised. Once again, he was of no use.

“It’s okay, Cas,” Sam said quickly. “How are you holding up?” He asked.

“I‘m mostly confused. I’m not sure how orange correlates with black in a way that’s new,” he said with furrowed eyebrows. He had spent the entire time watching the show trying to figure that out. He understood that Piper was in jail for a crime that she had committed a long time ago, but what did that have anything to do with orange and black?

“Step away from the Netflix,” Dean said.

“Oh, of course,” the former angel said quickly.

“No, ugh,” the blond groaned frustrated. Cas knew that he was rolling his eyes again. “Nevermind. Just pick up when we call,” he said.

“Of...” dial tone “course,” he finished, even though the brothers couldn’t hear him anymore.

He sighed heavily and got up. He might as well make himself useful and buy some more food for when Sam and Dean came back. He didn’t know when that would be, hunts were always unpredictable. It could be a day, or it could be a week. Never was no telling, but Cas figured that it was the least he could do, just in case they came back soon.

**-.-**

Cas came back two hours later with so many groceries, he had to make two trips. Dean had left his fake credit card, a Jim Morrison (who Cas knew was the former lead singer for The Doors), for him to buy groceries or in case there was an emergency.

Cas had picked up Sam and Dean’s favourite beer, a taste that he was slowly getting acquainted with, a few salads for Sam and himself, raw burgers for Dean, Dean’s favourite chips, an apple pie for Dean, fruit and vegetables from Sam (and himself), and some other foods that he could eat while he waits for the brothers to return.

Cas couldn’t cook. Making a PB&J sandwich was where his culinary skills ended, so much of the food he bought was either microwaveable or he had to pop it in the oven for a certain amount of time, something even he would be able to do.

He decided on a spaghetti dinner. He opened up the container it was in and popped it into the microwave for five minutes.While his food was heating up, he pulled up his phone and contemplated on giving Dean a call to see if they were making any progress, but quickly decided against it. With his luck, he’d be calling him in the middle of the hunt, which could cause him to be injured or worse.

Cas shook his head. No. He wouldn’t do that to Dean. He couldn’t.

The thought of Dean dead hurt his heart. It actually hurt him. It made him feel like someone had their fist around the organ and was squeezing it as tightly as they could.

The thought of Dean dead, made his eyes hurt. Not in the way they hurt when he was staring at a screen for too long, but in a way that happened shortly before one cried.

The thought of Dean dead, made his stomach churn. 

He would no longer be able to see those bright green eyes. He would no longer be able to see that smile and those dimples. He would no longer be able to look at him and to hear “don’t be creepy, Cas” or “stop being a creep”. He would no longer hear his name fall from those full lips, and have that odd feeling in his stomach when they did. He would no longer be able to count all those freckles that were peppered on the oldest Winchester’s face. He would no longer catch glimpses of the man without a shirt, and to see the way his skin clung to his muscles like leather. He would no longer be able to touch him, even if it was just his shoulders. He would no longer be able to feel his warmth when he was near him. He would no longer be able to see him. 

The thought of Dean dead, was the worst torture imaginable. Nothing that the angels, demons or even Naomi could compare to (Naomi was something that had no label. She was worse than Lucifer and Amara combined). She had come close, when she had forced him to kill carbon copy of Dean over and over again, but when it came to the real Dean, he couldn’t. He _wouldn’t_.

He would not cause Dean Winchester’s death. He would not be the reason for Dean Winchester’s demise. He refused.

He jumped when the microwave beeped, signalling that his food was done. He shook his head, trying to think of other thoughts, and wiped his eyes. He hadn’t even realised that silent tears had made their way down his face.

He got the food out of the microwave, hissing when it burned his fingers. Another sign of how weak he truly was now. He, of course, felt heat when he was still an Angel of the Lord, but it didn’t actually hurt him, at least not this kind of heat, but now? Now, he was useless.

He went back to the table and decided to watch a different show, a show called _FRIENDS_. He had heard Sam talk about it a few times, which had made Dean roll his green eyes and call him a “real chick”.

The show wasn’t bad. He was able to relate a lot to Ross. Ross, hopelessly in love with Rachel. Cas, hopelessly in love with Dean.

Cas froze. Had he really just thought that? Of course he loved Dean, anyone who was blind could see that. There was no denying that. After all, he had turned his back on his brothers and sisters for that man, but he never realised that he didn’t just love him, but he was _in love_ with the man.

Cas couldn’t help the bitter laugh that escaped his tomato sauce stained lips. “Of course I would be,” he said out loud and fished out his phone again. He really wanted to call Dean. He needed to hear his voice, but he wouldn’t.

He placed the phone on the table and chose a different show: Bob Ross. When he wasn’t in the heaven of an autistic man who had drowned in his bathtub in 1958, which was of an eternal Tuesday, he would sneak into the heaven of Bob Ross. Of course, when the war broke out in Heaven, he had to focus on that fight, as well as coming to ever beck and call of Dean, and had no time to listen to the soothing voice of Bob, but he missed it.

In his Heaven, Bob Ross continued to paint happy trees and explained everything he did as if he was still entertaining millions of kids and adults. He would also care for his squirrels and birds. His beloved wife was there too, of course. Sitting there and smiling while she watched and listened to her husband do what he loved the most.

After several hours of watching Bob Ross paint and listening to his soothing voice, his gushing over his beloved squirrels, he stopped what he was doing. He would love to have continued watching the man, but he was going stir crazy. He felt useless. Sam and Dean were currently risking their lives, and what was Cas doing? Relaxing while watching Bob Ross sooth him. He needed to make himself useful!

He began to look at freak accidents, and actually found one in Provo, Utah. Two college students had gone missing there in a span of a week. One girl, 19 year-old Hannah Marx, was walking home from her boyfriend’s dorm at 9 PM, only she never made it back. Her father had reported her missing the next day, but the police didn’t take any action until 24 hours had passed.

The second girl, 23 year-old Adrianne Diaz, who was a senior at Utah State, was reportedly kidnapped while she was walking her dog. Eyewitness’ said that they heard screams and saw a hooded man take her, but they couldn’t get a good description of the person.

Cas did some more digging and found that over the last 3 years, a total of 19 people had gone missing. None had ever been found, except for Aaron Handler, a 27 year-old electrical engineer. His body was found three months after he’d gone missing, but he looked like he had been dead for much longer. All that was left on him was old, leathery skin over his bones. There was nothing left of the man, who before going missing, had been 180 pounds of muscle and 6’ tall. There was definitely something supernatural about that. He kept the tap open to tell the Winchesters when they called him to tell him that they finished up the hunt, or when they came back.

**-.-**

Three days later, Dean called. Cas was so happy to hear his voice, and to hear that he was still alive and not injured. They had found the witch. She had been one of the women they had interviewed, the woman who claimed to have seen Nathan Willis’ ex-girlfriend.

“We should be done here by tomorrow, and then be there by Thursday,” he said.

“That’s good. I think I may have found something. In Pro-“

“Cas, we’re not even done here yet,” Dean had cut him off. He sounded tired and annoyed. “I just want to finish this up, get back home, and then just relax for at least a day,” he told him.

“Of course, I’m sorry,” he apologised. Of course Dean was tired. It was stupid of Cas to have even mentioned it. Why would he think that Dean would want to hear about a new case now, when he wasn’t even done with his current one?

“We’re about to gank the witch, and tomorrow we’ll take care of the qereen or whatever it’s called,” he told him.

“Qareen,” Cas corrected him.

“Whatever,” he said.

“Dean,” Cas said quickly, sensing that the man was about to hang up.

“Yeah?” 

“Be safe,” he told him. He _needed_ him to be safe.

Dean actually laughed at that, a sound that made Cas’ heart sore. “I always am,” he said, a smile evident in his voice, and hung up. 

Cas had a small smile on his face, put there by something as easy as making the older Winchester laugh. If something so small made him laugh, he knew that if he would go out there and take care of that monster himself, it would do much more than just make him laugh. It would make him happy.


	2. Closing In

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cas travels to Provo, Utah for a case he found while Sam and Dean are still hunting a qareen in Minot, North Dakota. Cas thinks he's figured out what he's dealing with.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I had planned on posting this sooner, but time is a social construct and since COVID and quarantine started, I have had no idea what day or time it is
> 
> I hope you enjoy it! Let me know what y'all think

Cas made sure to wait until Dean called again before he made up his mind whether he would go on that hunt or not. The day after he found his hunt, Sam had called to inform him that the witch was taken care of, but that they had to take care of the qareen now. From what he gathered from Sam’s word jumble, it seemed that Dean was now affected with the curse, which meant that he was the qareen’s newest target. Sam had called in the hopes that Cas would be able to find anything new, any way to slow the thing down, but Cas had nothing.

“I’m so sorry, Sam,” he apologised, feeling small and useless once again.

“It’s okay, Cas. I... I know you’re trying,” he sighed before hanging up. Cas rubbed his temples. He was utterly useless.

He shook his head, having made up his mind, and grabbed a sheet of yellow paper, scribbling down:

_Went on a hunt. Missing teens. Be back soon._

_10/14/19_

He made sure to write down the date, just in case the Winchesters came back earlier. He contemplated on writing down the location of the hunt, but then decided against it. Dean had said that he just wanted a break. He would do it without his help, to show him (and Sam) that he could be of use to them; that he could help them.

**-.-**

He made sure that he had everything: a bag full of weapons — a gun, silver bullets, his angel blade, a knife, salt, holy oil, holy water, a sawed off shotgun, salt rounds, a flashlight, a lighter, lock pick kit, rope, as well as his fake ID, the fake credit card, and his laptop. He also grabbed a notebook and pen, so that he could scribble down ideas and theories, and to remember certain details. As an angel, he had had a perfect memory, but ever since he became human, he had become more forgetful.

He also made sure to pack a few more clothes, as well as food and water. Now that he required sustenance, he couldn't risk being weak. As an angel, he didn’t require any sustenance, except for that time when Famine was in town and it had affected his vessel, Jimmy, and all he could focus on was eating red meat. But aside from that, he had never required (or enjoyed) food.

He made sure everything was packed, before he grabbed his car keys and walked out of the bunker. His car, a gold 1978 Lincoln Continental Mark V, was waiting for him.

*******

_Dean had laughed the first time he had seen it, and then proceeded to ask him if he was a pimp, which had confused Cas, because the blond man should’ve known better than anyone that he wasn’t a pimp. But the tone in the man’s voice let him know that he wasn’t being serious._

_“I like it,” Cas had responded. After that, Dean had affectionately nicknamed Cas’ car ‘The Pimpmobile’. A name that Cas didn’t particularly like, but it always made Dean smile._ _He now liked that name._

*******

“Are you ready?” He asked it. He knew that the car wouldn’t talk back or even hear what he was saying. It was a car after all, but Dean often spoke to his car as if it were an actual person, so he did, too. “Then let’s go,” he said.

**... ... ...**

Cas made the 13, almost 14 hour ride in a little under 20 hours. He had to pull over about halfway through to find a motel and rest, not to mention the numerous times he had to stop to use the restroom.

After being human for almost two months, and having been human before, he had still not grown used to urinating. It was so... odd. It was odd to him that his bladder, a tiny organ, was able to hold so much urine and cause so much discomfort, and that all he had to do to get rid of discomfort was urinate. He would never tire of it.

**-.-**

Dean had called on Thursday, the day he and Sam had originally planned on making their way back, to tell him that they would be gone longer. They had finally killed the qareen, but apparently there were still a few loose ends they had to tie up.

*******

_“We’ll try to make it home tomorrow or Saturday,” he had told him._

_“Okay, Dean,” he had replied, but Dean had already hung up._

*******

Cas sighed heavily. He had one more hour to go until he was in Provo. He had to focus on that. Once he was there, he could focus on what he was dealing with, kill it, and show Dean that he was of use to him and Sam. He suddenly perked up.

It was a good thing that they would be gone longer than anticipated. It gave Cas the opportunity to find whatever it was that was doing the killings, gank the son of a bitch, and make it back to the bunker before Sam and Dean got home. Then, when they came back and asked Cas what he had done, that he had managed to not only find a case, but take care of it all by himself. He could see it now: Dean smiling at him, that rare ear to ear smile, showing off his dimples. His green eyes bright with pride and he walked over to Cas and wrapped him in his arms in a tight hug. Cas, pressed up against Dean's warm body, inhaling his unique scent of leather, soap and whiskey.

Cas shook his head. _'Don't get ahead of yourself,'_ he told himself. _'You need to figure out what it is first,'_ he reminded himself.

**... ... ...**

When he finally arrived in Provo, he stopped at the phone booth and opened the phone book to look at the first Motel in it: Super 8. He memorised the address before getting back in his car and drove to the motel.

“Hello. I would like a room, please,” he said when he got in.

The bored older woman looked at him over her glasses. “How long?” She asked him.

“Er... a few days,” he replied, unsure. “I’m here on business,” he explained. “I’m with the FBI. I’m investiga-“

“Sign in here,” she cut him off and handed him a sign-in book. “Do you have a card or money?”

“Of course,” he replied and handed her his credit card.

“You’re in room 7. Enjoy your stay,” she said in a monotone voice before going back to the magazine she was reading.

“Thank you,” he thanked her and grabbed the key.

The motel room itself was a decent size. The walls were painted a hideous green, and the two single beds in the room were covered with hideous, brown covers that had light brown-orange circles on it. The carpet looked like it needed to be deep cleaned. It looked like it had at one point in time been beige, but now it was almost grey. By the window was a small table with two chairs. The table looked like it would tip over at the slightest touch, and the old chairs looked like they would collapse if Cas dared to sit on them.

He sat his bag on the unoccupied bed and fished out his laptop and notebook and gently placed them on the table, so that he could start his research. Before starting, though, he made sure to put his sandwich and water in the tiny fridge in the tiny kitchen. It was almost an insult to call the tiny area a kitchen. It had a sink that looked in dire need of a cleaning, a dirty microwave on a somehow dirtier counter top, and an old toaster, which Cas immediately unplugged. He didn’t want it to start a fire, and with the way the cable was twisted and copper wires poked out, he was sure that that was only a matter of time.

He slowly lowered himself down on the old chair, wincing slightly when it gave a high pitched squeak, and opened his laptop. In his notebook, he wrote down all of the known victims names and the dates that they were reported missing. With Aaron, he made sure to write down that he was dead, the location where he was found, by whom he was found, and in the condition he was found in. He also made sure to write down the names and addresses of the witnesses, as well as the addresses of the victims, and where they were last seen.

After he was done, he grabbed his fake ID and began to get ready to interview the people.

**-.-**

His first stop was a jogger named Erica Lee. She had found Aaron on her morning run two and a half years ago. At first, she had thought that it had been a dead animal, but when she got closer, and saw that it was the remains of a person, she had freaked out and immediately called 911.

“I’m glad that they’re finally looking into this,” she told him.

“Why’s that?” He asked, confused.

“The police here don’t seem to think that the missing persons are related,” she told him.

“What _do_ they think?” Cas asked.

“They think that they all just ran away, except for that one girl, of course. I think with her, they think that the same person who kidnapped and killed that Aaron guy, also kidnapped her, but they don’t think the other missing people are connected at all,” she explained. Cas furrowed his brows, but made sure to write everything down.

“Was there anything else that you can remember?” He asked her. “Sulfur, maybe, or was anything missing?” He inquired.

The woman thought for a moment, but then shook her head. “No, sorry. Everything else was nor-“ she stopped briefly. “Well, there _was_ something... maybe,” she added hesitatingly.

Cas straightened himself up. “What was it?” He asked.

“Well, the guy looked like he had been dead for a while, and he obviously was, but there was a hole, right,” she pointed to the side of her neck, “here.”

“A hole?”

“Yeah, a hole. Like, a needle hole or something. It was tiny,” she told him. “His skin looked all leathery and dried up, but I distinctly remember seeing a small hole,” she said before shaking her head. “I don’t know why I was even looking at it, but I just couldn’t look away from it. It was just... so awful,” she said and shook her head, as if she was trying to shake the memory away.

“Thank you. This potentially helps,” he told her and got up.

“Oh, well, I hope it does,” she said and got up as well. “I hope they find that monster that keeps taking all of those people,” she said. Cas wanted to smile. She had no idea how right she was, but he knew that that wasn’t an appropriate thing to do, at least not at a time like this.

“I assure you, I will,” he promised her and left.

The next person he interviewed was Hunter Heard, the man who witnessed Adrianne Diaz’s kidnapping. The man had told him exactly what he had told the police: he was walking home after work, when he saw a hooded figure come up behind the woman. She screamed and kicked back at him, dropping the dog’s leash in the process, but he was too strong. He said that she then just went limp and he then carried her somewhere. 

“Why didn’t you try to help?” Cas asked.

“Are you kidding me? I just saw what that guy had done to that chick! I didn’t want him doing that to me, too!” He told him, looking at the dark haired man as if he had lost his mind.

“Can you give me a description of him?” Cas asked. 

“Not really. It was pretty dark. There were street lights, but they didn’t really do much,” he said. “He was big, though. Easily bigger than 6 feet, and he looked strong. He looked buff. Like,” the man held his arms to the side and bent slightly forward, to imitate a well muscled man, “really buff,” he said. “And he was wearing a dark hoodie that covered most of his face,” he added.

“Most of it?” He asked. “That’s not what you said to the police,” he told him and turned the pages in his notebook to see what he had said. “You said that his entire face was covered,” he told him.

“Yeah, I mean, his hoodie was up,” he told him. “It was really dark, man,” he repeated himself.

“And you didn’t find it necessary to tell the police that you may have seen part of his face?” The former angel asked, anger seeping into his voice.

“I didn’t think it would help. What could they do with a partial face description?” He asked.

“A lot more than with none!” He practically yelled at him. The young man looked at him, brown eyes wide. Cas closed his blue eyes and took a deep breath in an effort to calm himself. “What did it look like?” He asked him, calmer.

“Er... I don’t know. Um... dark?” He offered. Cas gave him a look, that made him stutter harder. “I-I don’t know, man. He-he looked dark!” He said again. “Not like, he was dark, but his face looked dark, as if he had tattoos or something,” he said. “And I think he may have had a piercing?” He added hopefully and uncertainly. “I remember seeing something, like, reflect, but I didn’t really focus on that too much. I mean, I had just seen him kidnap some poor girl,” he told him.

“Anything else you can remember?” He asked him. “Anything at all?”

“Not really,” he said and shook his head. “Well, there was something, but the police said that it was nothing. They said I had just imagined it from the shock,” he explained.

“What is it?” Cas asked and leaned forward.

“Well, I remembered that when that guy picked her up and put his hand over her head, I swear I saw it, like, light up,” he told him.

“What do you mean?” Cas asked confused.

“Like, when it touched her, his arms kind of... turned blue?” He offered. “Not, like, completely blue, but it almost looked like blue flames or something. And his eyes... I couldn’t really see, but I just remember his eyes were suddenly bright blue. Like, _glowing_ blue,” he told him. Cas thought about that for a second before he got up.

“That may have actually helped,” he told him and began to walk to the door.

“You know who he is?” The blond boy asked hopefully.

“I think I might know _what_ it is,” he said before walking out of the house.

**... ... ...**

Cas returned back to the motel and began to research. His guess had been right. He was dealing with a djinn. Dean had told him how he had dealt with them before. Once alone in Joliet, Illinois, and again in Topeka, Kansas with Sam and Charlie.

They were nasty things. Extremely strong, extremely fast, and a real pain to kill. Luckily, they usually travelled alone, although there have been some who travelled in packs, like the one in Topeka.

They usually lived in ruins; places that were big and otherwise unoccupied by humans. Dean had mentioned that when the djinn got a jump on him, it had been in a warehouse.

Cas began to look into abandoned warehouses, but found nothing. He then began to look into abandoned places all around. The was an abandoned high school, an abandoned insane asylum from the 80s, and an abandoned factory. He ruled out the abandoned insane asylum. That just didn’t feel right to him. The abandoned high school was a possible hit, but he had more hope for the abandoned factory.

A yawn managed to escape his full, chapped lips. He was utterly exhausted. He thought about eating his sandwich that he still had in the fridge, but he decided to save it for tomorrow. He would need his strength to take down the djinn.

Tomorrow, he would make Dean proud.


End file.
